Letsom. "It may be hard for
us to lose her, but she belongs to him."
"He will never love her as I do," observed Margaret Dornham.
Of the real rank and position of that father she had not the faintest
suspicion. He had money, she knew; but that was all she knew--and money
to a woman whose heart hungers for love seems very little.
"There is something almost terrible in the love of that woman for that
child," thought the doctor. "She is good, earnest, tender, true, by
nature; but she is capable of anything for the little one's sake."
So the two years and a half passed, and the child, with her delicate,
marvelous grace, had become the very light of those two lonely lives. In
another six months they would have to lose her. Dr. Letsom knew very
well that if the earl were still living at the end of the three years
his son would tell him of his marriage.
On a bright, sunshiny day in June the doctor walked over to Ashwood. He
had a little packet of fruit and cakes with him, and a wonderful doll,
dressed most royally.
"Madaline!" he cried, as he entered the cottage, and she came running to
him, "should you like a drive with me to-morrow?" he asked.
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